


Embers to Flames

by MagsyB



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Guilt, Secret Keeper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 10:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3443792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagsyB/pseuds/MagsyB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The secrets can only build up so much before they weigh you down to where you either drown in your guilt, or you learn to forgive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blown Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a work of labor over at Tumblr. My user name there is starlight-falls. This has gone through a MAJOR overhaul. So, if you read it in it's original format, you will notice some huge changes. :D

It started after the funeral.  If someone had asked, she wouldn’t have been able to give a reason why. It just happened. One night, not too long after her shift, she just found herself wandering, and had somehow made her way into the first church she saw. It was the flicker of the flames near the altar that had garnered her attention almost immediately. The way the light had cast back the darkness, swaying shadows, and light dancing on the hallowed wall. She felt mesmerized, staring at the flames. The unlit candles brought forth a feeling of deep sorrow within her. Like a chill that settled deep within her bones.

She remembered thinking of the unfairness of it all. Thinking that one light was no more important than the next.  All the grief and sadness that she had been holding onto, and all of the guilt and shame she had been hiding felt oppressive. But she knew that she had to pretend.  No, not pretend, hide. And even still that one word could not describe all of what she felt.  She knew Sherlock was alive. Alive and alone. And every day she kept his secret meant the less danger he was in than the day before. It was a burden she had offered to keep. But it was the offer of comfort that she needed to give. But who was she to offer? She wasn't even anyone near important enough for someone to let her know if he was hurt or not.  If he.. if he was..

Before her brain could catch up with what she was doing, she had already reached out and lit one of the candles.  The lick of the flame across her eyes calmed her racing mind. It was a balm on her soul, she didn't realize she needed. ”Everyday,” she said softly to no one in particular, perhaps she was speaking to God if he was feeling so inclined to listen. She doubted it. None of her prayers had ever been answered before, but this was never about God. This was more for her own peace of mind.

“Everyday til I know otherwise,” she decided, content with her decision. She nodded to the cross, Jesus' disconsolate face bathed in candle-lite stared back as she left the church.

She was able to come back to the church for the next few days, since work had given her time off.  But, as she was lighting the fourth candle, she realized how selfish her actions were. Taking up someone else’s light. Her darkness was her own to battle. But these candles' light were there for those left behind. To help guide passing souls home.  She wanted it as a guiding light, but also for another purpose altogether. To try and keep her hope and spirits alive. She knew with each passing day, the lies and the deceptions would slowly start to extinguish her own light. She just wanted to fan the flames before they died down to embers. Besides, she had a feeling she would be waiting more days than the church had candles to offer.

Months later and well into what had become an obsession, she met Tom. It was more than a need within her that she felt she had to continue. Everyday had felt like an ache to try and keep the darkness at bay. But by that time, 487 candles became a bit much, and so she decided to restrict the lighting of the candles to once a week. But she would always find the time. Just her and the candles. And with each candle she lit, she felt lighter, like one more lie was forgiven. One more burden lifted. One less guilt carried. So, one night a few weeks later after she had finished lighting all 494 candles she almost panicked when she got a surprise knock on her door.  

It was the least likely of suspects. Tom stood in her doorway, a bouquet of flowers blocking half of his face. But it was his eyes that drew her in.  The poor thing had this look as if he had thought he had done something wrong. Unfortunately for her, with all the candles scattered about, it began to look way too suspect on her part. So, she did the only thing she knew how to do. Lie and pretend.

"I’m glad you came," she said, smiling at Tom and hoping he couldn't see through her lie.  "I um.. was just about to call."

"You were?" he asked, looking around her flat and the romantic setting she had prepared.  Molly simply shrugged her shoulder, and bit her lip unconsciously.

"Is it okay?" she asked, gesturing to the room at large.

Tom smiled brightly and reached up to cup her face.  "Yeah, it’s okay." he replied, kissing her softly. “A bit of a fire hazard, but wonderful, all of the same.”

After that incident, it was harder for her to set a routine.  But for whatever days she missed, she always lit that many to make up for the absence.  But it still didn't change the fact that now it felt different. No matter how many candles she lit, the weight on her chest just seemed to grow heavier.

It was just a normal day out at the shops the day Tom proposed. He had taken her out to buy her a new candle to go with what he called her quirky candle obsession.  He also recommended she get a fire hydrant for every 5 feet which she simply giggled off.  But when she turned around to find him on bended knee, she gasped as he reached inside his pocket, pulling out a ring and continued, “Or you could have me. Whether you need me to light your flame or soothe your aches and burns.. I’d be honored.” he finished.

"Is this?" she asked, hands hovering above her mouth.

"Oh.. um… I didn’t ask, did I?"  he questioned, a smile playing at his lips, looking around at the crowd gathering around the small shop.

"No, but… Yes, of course, I will." she said.  Molly didn’t understand why, but when Tom slipped the ring onto her finger, it felt as if it was searing her from the inside. The light behind her eyes, blazing so bright, she felt blinded. But in that moment, she was so overwhelmed that she simply put it down to being in love, and left it at that.

It wasn't long after that everything just became rote. And the lighting of her candles became more of a routine than anything. And it just so happened that the day Sherlock returned, she had planned to light her candles. She no longer felt embarrassed about doing it with Tom in her home. He never understood her obsession, not that she ever tried to explain it; but he accepted it, because he accepted her. He put it down to just one of her quirks. She had been pretending for so long that it didn’t even cross her mind that it was wrong to be thinking of another man, even if all she was thinking, was hoping that he was alive. And perhaps too, that he would come back and absolve her of her guilt.  It had felt like wishing for the end of world hunger; a worthy cause, but a fruitless endeavor for someone like her.

But as she finished striking the match to light the first candle, it dawned on her that she no longer had to keep vigil. That no matter how bright or how dark it was, Sherlock made it back, on his own. He didn't need her to light his way home. And all the lies and guilt were on no ones head but her own. Her silly little candle obsession was just that. A silly obsession. But after all this time, she didn't know how to move on. She still felt this ache deep within her. Like she was constantly cast in shadows, no matter how bright the light.  Picking up the closest candle to her, she threw it with all her might against her wall, and let out a loud wail. She swiped her arm across her table sending several candles crashing to the floor. She was just so tired.

Tom came rushing out of the bedroom, only to find several candles broken and Molly collapsed on the floor crying.  ”Oh my God, Molly, what's wrong?” he asked, rushing to her side.

I.. I.. can’t.." she sobbed into his shoulder.

"It’s okay,” he said hugging her tightly, “Shh..I’ve got you. Shhh.." he hummed, rocking her back and forth.

Molly cried while Tom continued holding her. While in his arms, her thoughts raced with how wrong it felt. Her mind and emotions seemed to be in such disconnect after such a long time, that she felt as if she had somehow let everyone down. But for now, she let herself have this moment of weakness.

The next day she threw away all of her candles.


	2. Dying Embers

Molly shouldn't have been shocked at all the press in front of 221B when she arrived with Tom for Sherlock's not dead/welcome back party. She knew he would eventually have to give a press release, but she was too terrified to have thought of it when he texted to invite her over. She wondered if it was the mere thought of having to face them all at once that had petrified her thought process and had her accepting the invitation as if on automatic. One thing was for sure she was too exhausted to try and decipher her reasoning for coming.

She had already arrived. And, it wasn't as if she didn't want to see her friends. She was grateful that Sherlock coming home had bound them all together again. It was just that she was more worried they would be able to see through her, that the cracked shell she had become would break apart completely when surrounded by those who finally had their lives together. For awhile now, she had been feeling nothing but empty and drained. And as she stepped through the door, the only thoughts that were running through her head were 'what could he possibly think she still had left to offer?' She did her best, plastering on a smile. It was barely a shell of what it used to be, but she tried to offer up words of congratulations that didn't sound bitter or taste insincere on her tongue. In that moment, she was never more grateful for champagne.

She had just sat down next to Mary, when she heard Lestrade ask Tom about how he proposed. Molly could feel her body tensing, and took another sip of champagne to try and calm her nerves. It wasn't that she didn't want people to know. It was lovely, really. But, it was just that the story was no longer romantic or heartwarming to her. All it was now, was a reminder of all the guilt she's been carrying. And it unnerved her now, that she couldn't grasp why every happy memory with Tom now filled her with resentment and self-loathing.

Molly looked down and fiddled with her ring, before looking over to Tom smiling sadly. The sad understanding smile he shoots her only adds to the weight on her heart. And not even within 5 minutes of being in Baker Street, she feels overwhelmed. That with one question, those around her will see what she has been trying so desperately for months to hide. And all she can do is try and drown in her champagne while she hears Tom try and stutter out a reply.

"Oh, well, um.. it was kind of private." he said, not looking at the detective.

“Did it in bed, eh?” he asked.

It was pretty clear that Tom was trying his best to fit in. First time in months of dating meeting friends she's only talked about to him. But he has no clue how to respond, so can only look to Molly for her to respond. Guilt upon guilt.

"It was beautiful,” she started looking at the ring, “and mine. And I'd kinda like to keep it that way. He proposed, and that's all you really need to know" Molly filled in for him. "Well, that and the fact that I’m wearing the ring, right?  Means he’s got his girl." she finishes, giving him a wink and squeezing his hand.

"Right," Lestrade clapped. Molly could feel his eyes boring holes into her, like he was trying to solve one of his unsolved cases. She was grateful when he simply picked up his champagne and continued to speak. "I guess that means we owe the two of you congratulations.”

"Well, three if you count Sherlock." Mary says without barely a hesitation.

"I’m marrying Tom, why would Sherlock need to be…" Molly starts, feeling Tom tense beneath her hand. Suddenly she feels like shattered glass as the hush in the room is almost deafening, til she sees Mrs. Hudson lean over to whisper something in Mary’s ear.  

"You meant him coming back from the dead, of course you did.  I um, just.." Molly said softly with a self-deprecating smile. Molly lifted up her empty champagne flute, raising it in almost a salute."just.. going to get more. Excuse me.” she muttered, rising, no longer caring that all eyes were on her as she made her way to the kitchen.

She didn't realize how long she had hid herself away, clutching the counter. She was lost her her thoughts thinking about what an idiot she’d made of herself ,that she was startled when she heard Sherlock’s loud scoff from the other room. The fact that she didn't even hear them bounding up the stairs after they had finished with the press showed her how out of it she had become.

"I made your excuses if you're ready to go." Tom said, handing Molly her jacket.

"Sorry, I’m just…"  Molly started, taking her jacket while turning to face Tom. She really had no excuse for her rudeness. And he must have been able to read it.

"It’s okay," he shrugged, "You looked tired, so.."

"Tired," Molly said, scoffing.  "Yeah, definitely tired." she finished, nodding to herself.

"Tomorrow though..” Tom said, giving her a kiss on the cheek, “tomorrow we talk." Molly just nodded, letting him lead her out the door.  

She wasn’t sure whether or not she was grateful he never did bring it up the next day.

It wasn’t until after the Watson’s wedding that all the lies she's been telling herself came crashing down.  And like with most things in her life, it didn't happen with a bang, but with a whimper.

It was the end of an exhausting day, and all she really wanted was to take a long hot shower and go to bed.  Alone. She didn't want to think about having to pretend that she wasn't falling apart. But, unfortunately, as soon as she walked into her apartment, Tom was there. Just like he would always continue to be there.  And that irked her. The feelings had been gnawing away slowly at her insides, but today she could feel herself cracking. So, she did her best to make herself invisible. Made some passing comment about her day as she went to get tea, and droned on about how all she really wanted was to just take a long hot bath and then head to bed. It was an excuse to be away from him. To clear her head. And the moment she stepped into the bathroom and saw that Tom drew her a bath, lighting some candles, she knew. She couldn’t help hating herself in that moment. Not being able to love him, how he so obviously loved her. How he truly deserved to be loved.

"Tom.." she said softly, her whole body feeling heavy with the weight of her heart. "Don’t." she finished shaking her head.

"I can.." he gestured to the candles as if to say he could blow them out.

"No, not that." she continued.  "Us."

"Us." he said standing up to face her, "I can wa…"

"No, we both know," she said slowly, walking over to him and working her engagement ring off her finger. 

"Right," he said.  "I guess I should have seen this coming." he gestured to the ring in her outstretched hand.

"Please, don…"

"Why not, Mol? Why?” he asked, his voice rising.

Molly shook her head, tears silently streaming down her face.

“Oh, so that's how this works? No one's allowed to break poor Molly's heart, but..”

"No, it’s..just…"

"Just what, Molly?” He screamed. “You've obviously been leading me on this long, what’s a few more moments?" he asked angrily, waiting for her to respond.  

When she didn’t say anything.  He just shook his head, mumbling “keep the ring” before he left the room.

It was the slam of the apartment door that had made Molly feel safe enough to finish speaking.

”I just don’t think there’s any part of me that’s not broken.” she finished softly.


	3. Nothing But a Spark

Sherlock always felt at peace when he was playing his violin. Whether it was the scratch of the bow against the strings, playing a composition for the first time, or composing a new melody, a cacophony of different notes strung together to a piece he had created from thoughts and feelings he had no other way to express. It was an activity that made him feel whole. Like home.  Unfortunately, the piece he was playing now, was incomplete. No matter how he tried to end it, it just didn't feel right. The piece simply eluded him.

"That was beautiful," Janine said, snapping him out of his thoughts.  "Is it one of your own?"  she asked innocently, pointing to the various pages littering the floor with discarded notes.

"It’s not complete.." he said, frustrated that Janine was now awake. It was one thing for her to hear him play, but for her to see him struggling, that was one thing he definitely did not want her to see. "There’s something…missing" he stated irritably, putting his violin down and walking over to gather the sheet music, glancing over to Janine, wishing she would just go away so he could get this thought off his chest without her presence.

Putting the sheet music on his stand, he crossed over and gave her a peck on the lips, “It doesn’t matter, I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I?” he asked sitting on his chair and pulling her to sit on his lap.

"Yes, and you better think of something clever to win me back before I run off with the next man that asks me." she said smiling, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"What if I…" Sherlock started, trying to think of what one would do to win back someone’s affection.  He loathed that he even had to think of something. The whole concept seemed ridiculous. 'I never have to try to win Molly's affection,' he thought. 'She simply understands.'

He must have taken too long to respond, as he felt Janine getting up off his lap only to stand in front of him with her hands on her hips.  

”Okay, Sheryl. You want to win me back?” she asked her eyebrows raised.

“Of course, darling.” he stated, reaching for her hand, inwardly cringing at his use of endearment.

“Answer me one question then..” she said, smiling

Sherlock opened his mouth ready to tell her he would answer any question she asked, before Janine interrupted him. 

"Honestly.. and don’t think I don’t know when you’re not being honest."

Sherlock gave her a puzzled look as she continued on. He was certain there was no way that she would be able to tell a truth from a lie given their current relationship, but that didn't mean that he hadn't let a few things slip. It was exhausting trying to deceive a person 24/7.

"Don’t think that I don’t know that the majority of the things that come out of that beautiful mouth of yours aren’t lies. I find it kind of a turn on trying to figure you out. But sometimes, a girl just get's curious, ya know?"

"Alright. Nothing that's clingy” he said wiggling his fingers as if in explanation “...or what you might consider embarrassing."

Janine’s face lit up like a Christmas tree.  ”Really?” she asked, straddling his lap interrupting him.

"Really," Sherlock said, giving her a peck on the lips, hoping that would stop her grating chatter.

"The song you were just playing," Janine started,

Sherlock closed his eyes, inwardly cringing at what he thought was coming next.

"When did you start composing it?”

Sherlock opened his eyes shocked by the question. He was expecting her to ask what the piece was about. This question however should have been simple enough, only he not could think of a time in the last few years that the piece wasn't playing somewhere in his head.

“Come on Sheryl, that's not a hard question.” Janine said.

”I’m.. not sure.”  he said, cocking his head to the side, frustrated with the answer himself.

"No, that is not an answer. At least give me a time frame. Has it been a few days? Weeks?…"

”..years.” he said, surprising himself not just with the answer but with answering her honestly. “It keeps changing on me,” he says irritably, “I can never seem to grasp the whole thing.”

"So, it’s not about the time we met?" she asked a little saddened that the song was not for her.

Sherlock pushed back his annoyance, at her put upon look.

"You, my dear,” he stated, tapping her chin, “are far too lovely for a simple violin solo." he said, trying to smooth over whatever emotional landmines he might have accidentally put in his own way.

"Oh, you are such a liar," she said with a smile and a kiss, "but at least your my liar." she said, patting his cheek as she got up off his lap.

"Where are you going?" he asked, wondering if he had somehow screwed up all of his hard work.

"Work, you know I can’t be late." she said, grabbing her purse from the kitchen table.

"Fine, but I’m picking you up for lunch." he said, determined. He still had more of her building to survey, and this gave him the perfect excuse.

"Lunch it is," she said pecking him on the lips once more. "See you later," she threw back with a saucy wink before leaving.

'Finally, alone at last.' he thought. He could think properly now without her incessant … everything.  It was always a joy to hone his acting skills, but Janine was definitely pushing his buttons, he had no intentions of letting her.  He looked at the violin, and the music now sitting still on his stand. It all seemed corrupted now. Like this whole deception with Janine, had ruined the piece. Which seemed ludicrous.

Yet, a part of him, can still hear the piece playing so vibrant and full in his head. When he had come back after so long being dead to the world, and putting the instrument to his chin and just releasing.  It felt like a flame burning within him then. Like the joy he had felt at seeing everyone he loved alive and well once again. Now, as he thinks about his friends, John and Mary, Molly's engagement. It felt like there was nothing left but ash and embers.  


	4. Accidental Tinder

He didn’t understand why it bothered him so much. But more importantly, he didn't want to understand why it bothered him so much. He just wanted the feeling to go away. And perhaps, if he didn’t already have so much on his plate with Magnussen, and John and Mary; then he could explain why Molly not coming to visit him, made him feel... irrational, if anything. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the feeling that she was somehow abandoning him. It brought an empty feeling inside of him, anytime he dared to think about it. Which was why he found himself on the day of his discharge, heading down to St. Bart's morgue instead of straight to Baker Street.

When he saw her standing near his usual microscope doing lab work, he felt his anger overtake him. He hated how out of control she made him feel. The fact that she could bring out so many emotions from him all the while keeping hers in check. It infuriated him. And clearly, she had been doing well for the entirety of his hospitalization. There were no clear signs of distress or even of joy that he had been released.  She was just his plain old Molly.

"Go home Sherlock." Molly said, glancing in his direction before adding solution to the test tubes she had laid out.

"I came…"

"No," she interrupted him, placing her equipment on the counter and ripping off her gloves. "You didn’t"

"I didn’t what?" Sherlock challenged, raising a brow at her in turn.

Turning to face him fully, she went on, “You didn’t come here for a case.  You didn’t come here to use the equipment.  You didn’t even come here to socialize.. or apologize, or anything, except figure out why I didn’t go to see you in the hospital.  And I know you’ve most likely already deduced my day.  Hell, knowing you, you probably figured out what I had for breakfast last month and what I was wearing at the time.  But, just don’t … don’t do that.” Molly said waving her hands vaguely in his direction.

"And what precisely is that?" He said, mimicking her hand waving.

"This…" she said again, waving between them.  "You can’t go and… and..you're just not." she tried to finish by stamping her foot.

"Molly, can you at least string one sentence together? Here you are yelling at me, and yet I'm the one that should feel slighted."

"Excuse Me? You feel slighted?" Molly asked a bit incredulously.  Looking at his face, she could tell that he was serious.  "Right," she continued softer more resigned. "Sherlock, what are we?"

Sherlock was taken aback by the question, not sure if this was some sort of Molly trap. Where she meant one thing, and yet it came out completely wrong. It's not like this would be the first time she miscommunicated what she was trying to get across. Drawing his brows together, he tried to decipher exactly what she could have possibly meant.

"I mean, are we friends?"

'Oh. Of course they were friends,' he thought, taken off guard by the question. 'How could she think anything different.  Didn’t he make that plain to her?  He was sure he had said it in so many..' He watched as Molly's eyes began to water and she turned her face away. '...and why is she so upset?  Didn’t he just say they were friends?'

"Please just go."  Molly said, clearly upset.

"Molly, you didn’t…"

"If it takes you that long to say yes, or no.. then the answer is most likely no, Sherlock. You taught me that. Just please.. please go." she finished turning away completely.

Sherlock too shocked and overwhelmed with too many thoughts simply nodded his head and turned to leave. Only to stop at the door when he heard Molly call his name.

Turning back, he saw Molly Hooper struggling with her words. She had always stuttered around him in some way or another. But he didn't want to think that the reason she was struggling was because she was trying to find the right words to tell him goodbye. "I.. wish you, just, all the best… and..” she gave him a sad smile and a shrug before finishing with. “Happy Christmas."


	5. Light

'She hated him. She did. The stupid stupid man. And why… Why did he have to be so…so...him.' she thought.

Molly stared at the box sitting on her counter. The last notes of the simple tune slowly fading out. 'That stupid beautiful lovely man. Why did he always have to twist her up?' she asked herself, wiping at her tear ridden face. But the more important question she kept asking herself was, 'why, out of all the men, did she have to fall in love with the one that was an emotional cripple? Did he even know how much this would mean to her?'

The music box sat quietly now, tempting her to play it over and over like she had when she was little. It had been lost ages ago, right before she moved to London. She had felt like such a disappointment then. No matter her achievements, they were never enough. There was always something that had made her a failure in her mother's eye. And when she had lost the music box, she had never felt like more of a failure. The disappointment in herself at that time almost crippled her, if it were not for meeting Sherlock...

Molly halts her thinking there, running her fingers along the gold filigree. It had belonged to her mother, and her mother before her , and her mother's mother before her and so on. It had been passed down for generations; and she was the one that had lost it. And now, there it sat. Almost in perfect condition. The same box with the same nick on the side, she remembered her grandfather making when he dropped it in a move.

She felt like a fool crying over a stupid box, but she didn’t know what to make of it. It could have been the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for her, if it were from anyone but Sherlock. And yet, those were the emotions his beautiful wonderful gift brought forth. The man who, barely a week ago, couldn’t even state that they were friends, somehow with a simple gift said 'you matter' better than any words ever could.

She wished she could hate him. It would be so much easier if she could just hate him. 'Why wouldn’t he just let her hate him?' she thought, 'what won't that stupid beautiful fool, let her move on?'

Molly picked up the box once more, twisting the key to let the music play again.

Molly hummed along under her breath, and as the song slowly faded once more, she realized. Even if it was easier to hate him, her life would also be that much emptier without him.

–

“Is it done?” Sherlock asked Wiggins when he saw him approach Baker St.

“Yeah, but I don’t think she’s very pleased about it, though.” Wiggins replied, following after Sherlock, noting the black car that had pulled up to the curb.

"She didn’t like the gift?" Sherlock asked perturbed by Wiggins reply. Surely it couldn’t have been that. He was sure, finding her antique music box was the way to go.

"oh no, she likes it alright.  I’d even wager to say she loves it. But I reckon she’s just upset cause she’s not sure why you did it." Wiggins said, scratching the back of his neck.

"Nonsense. Why would she be confused?" he said, opening the door for Wiggins to get in the car.

"I’m a guessin you and the missus don’t do much in the way of expressin’ your emotions." Wiggins chuckled out to himself.

"Trust me Dr. Hooper’s emotions are plenty erratic as is, I can barely understand that woman even when she is being sensible." he stated, hopping in the car and shutting the door.

"And you don’t see why?" Wiggins queried, lifting his brows in shock.

"Why should I?"

"Love don’t see too good does it.” Wiggins muttered to himself before turning to Sherlock to add, “The Missus loves you."

"And if you believe that, then you are a fool. And, why are we even still on this topic?” Sherlock asked frustrated.

“You asked?”

“That's beside the point. We have bigger things to deal with. You did bring your supplies, right?”

"Aye, wotchya take me for."

"At the moment?  A lackey."  Sherlock finished with a smirk.

“I shoulda stayed with the Missus.” Wiggins mumbled under his breath.

“What was that?” Sherlock asked.

“Nothing.” Wiggins said, looking out the car's window. Sometimes, his boss was just plain clueless.


	6. The Brightest Flame

It had been several days after his brief exile and return, and still he had no word on the Moriarty situation. His mind raced with so many thoughts, that they began to pound against the back of his skull. The what if's and the how's, why's, where's, who. And to top it off, his unfinished composition was constantly plaguing him. Playing as if on a loop to taunt him. Making it so that no matter how hard he tried, he wouldn't be able to concentrate enough to organize his thoughts.

 

Jumping up from his chair in frustration, Sherlock strode over to his violin once more, and struck bow to string. While playing, his mind settled. He used the music like a metronome to steady the pace of his thoughts. And as his head began to clear, he allowed himself to become more immersed in the music. He could feel the vibrations from his violin ricochet from his fingers down to his toes, and feel the sound-waves as they bounced off the bridge and towards his face. It was a balm he rarely let himself enjoy.

 

It was in this relaxed state, that the melody that had been plaguing him, tore from his mind and to his instrument. It was a constant now. The tune playing over and over again, still never complete. He knew that it no longer mattered whether he had his violin in hand or not, he would still be able to hear it; hear her louder than he had before. She was a permanent fixture now. Along with all the feelings he wished he could keep at bay, he knew he could never truly keep them from her.

 

Closing his eyes, he let his mind wander. He had once thought this song was about home, only to realize now, it was always about Molly. He tried to rearrange his thoughts to make everything fit, to grasp everything flooding through his mind. But just the realization of Molly being his home, was making his head spin. No it wasn't that, it was more than that. It was the song, his thoughts, everything. Even before he had met her, his life always had been about her. She was that feeling of home and acceptance that he had always longed for. The love that he thrives for, and the hope that he never knew he needed. And somehow, somewhere along the way the idea of home, of love, of hope. They all had become synonymous with Molly in his psyche.

 

Sherlock suddenly stopped in his playing, the guilt weighing heavily on his mind. That terrible pressure that he had felt in the pit of his stomach while he was on that plane was chewing at him again. He didn't understand it then, why he felt as if he had failed her yet again. But he understood it now. He felt like a coward for not going to see her, but he had let her down so many times before, he felt once more would make no difference. Except it did, if to no one other than himself. How many times had she saved him? Pulled him out of his own darkness? And all he had to offer was a shackle to pull her further into her own. He had taken all of her warmth, and given none in return. Staring out his window, he wondered if he could ever do right by her. She was always his light, and regrettably for him, all he knew how to do was throw shadows.

 

Turning back around to put his violin away, Sherlock came face to face with the one person he felt he could no longer deceive.

 

“Sorry,” Molly apologized, “The door was unlocked, and you well, I didn't want to... well I did.. I just..” Molly stopped her rambling, glancing at the ground, seeming to gather strength as she took in a breath.

 

“I wanted to thank you.” She finished, looking up at his still frame.

 

Her words seemed to jolt him out of his shock. He had not expected to see her. And yet, just thinking of her, had conjured her to him. His emotions were already in a tumultuous tizzy, and he was having a hard enough time trying to decipher her logic.

 

“Thank me?” He asked, putting his violin down on his chair.

 

“For my Christmas present,” she clarified, smiling softly, “though I probably should have come a few weeks ago, but I didn't know... I mean I wasn't sure.. It was..” Molly huffed, frustrated with herself. “I'm not saying this right.”

 

“No,” Sherlock smiled at her, stepping closer to her. “You're not. But, I did a far worse job when it came time for me to try and explain how I feel to you.”

 

“Really?” Molly asked with an edge of anxious hope straining her voice, taking a few steps in his direction.

 

“It seems to be fairplay,” he said, unconsciously taking another step towards her.

 

“What gift exchange?” Molly inquired, amusement quirked at her lips.

 

“No,” he replied simply, invading her space.

 

“Sherlock?” Molly asked, tilting her head up to look into his eyes.

 

“I don't understand it,” he continued.

 

“What?” she asked softly.

 

Sherlock smiled down at her, “You,” he said, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You are the most complex puzzle I have ever come across, Molly Hooper.”

 

“I'm not..”

 

“You are,” he said softly, his hand straying from her ear, to cup her cheek. “And every time, I try and tell you what you mean. I seem to fumble like a massive fool, making you think nothing but the worst of me.” His thumb stroked her cheek softly as his eyes slowly drifted to her lips. “And, I am sorry if I ever made you doubt that I thought of you as less than a friend.”

 

“Sherlock,” Molly started, her thoughts being wiped from her head as he moved his palm down so he could press the pad of his thumb against her lips.

 

“If nothing else, Molly. You are a friend. I just...”

 

“Want more?” Molly asked against the thumb that had stilled against her bottom lip.

 

His eyes darted up to hers at that moment, so very glad she understood. He smiled at her, before dropping his hand to lay against her neck, his index finger grazing against her pulse point..

 

“With you? Everything.” he said, leaning down as she reached up on her toes.

 

The kiss was soft, as he touched his lips to hers, but he could feel her heart racing. It was speeding, but he could no longer discern between beats as his own was pounding in his ears, as he pressed his mouth more firmly to hers.

 

“I'm not very good at this,” Sherlock said softly when their lips parted.

 

Molly blinked up at him. “Uh, I'd beg to differ,” she said slightly dazed. Her lips shining with moisture from his kiss.

 

Sherlock chuckled, and kissed her again.

 

“Perfect,” Molly sighed, when their mouths broke apart.

 

Sherlock leaned his forehead against hers, “Just remember that when I screw things up, okay?” he asked, hugging her body closer to his. He could feel her body shake, and looked down to see her laughing softly.

 

“What?” he asked as she turned her face up to look at him.

 

“You,” she said with a smile on her face. “You may be brilliant, but sometimes you miss the silliest things.”

 

Sherlock drew his brows together, trying to figure out what she meant by that.

 

Molly brought her hand up to Sherlock's forehead brushing his curls aside, before resting her palm on his cheek, “You don't need to over-think this, Sherlock,” she said. “Just if kissing me feels..” Molly's words were cut off as Sherlock's mouth descended onto hers once again.

 

“Perfect,” he replied this time, when they broke apart.

 

“See, same page,” she said, pulling at the nape of his neck to bring his mouth to hers again.

 

“We should,” Sherlock started, his breathing labored.

 

“I would,” she said.

 

“But?”

 

“But I should go, work.” she finished.

 

Reluctantly, they stepped apart from each other. Molly smiled tentatively at Sherlock, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

 

“Thank you, Molly” he said, his hand itching to push the lock of hair himself.

 

“For?”

 

Sherlock gave her a small smile and shrugged his shoulder, “Your forgiveness, your friendship, your patience, the kiss, any or all of the aforementioned.”

 

Molly smiled and gave him a brief nod not wanting to ruin the moment.

 

“Molly,” he said, as she turned for the door.

 

She stopped and turned her head towards him, biting her lip waiting for him to continue.

 

“I don't cook.” he said, stepping forward.

 

As Molly laughed, he found he liked the sound, and realized how much her smile had relaxed him.

 

“Take-away?” she asked, her eyes filled with mirth.

 

Sherlock nodded “Tonight.”

 

Molly nodded her head in turn before making her way out the door. But not before leaving without one final word.

 

“I'll text you.”

 

He couldn't wait. 

 

**THE END.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All mistakes are my own. Reading over it 30 times still can't catch all my errors, but I'm happy with it as it is. So, comments and kudos are love. :D


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